


drops of tears for the hazy moon

by Gothams_Only_Wolf



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gaian equivalent, Japanese Culture, Minor Character Death, Minor Cid Highwind/Vincent Valentine, Wutainese Culture (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothams_Only_Wolf/pseuds/Gothams_Only_Wolf
Summary: Inserting a kikyō kanzashi into Elena's braided bun, Tseng reminisced on a Wutai absent of ShinRa, absent of war and death—A Wutai that hadn't truly been seen in decades.
Relationships: Elena/Tseng (Compilation of FFVII), Reno & Tseng (Compilation of FFVII), Tseng & Reeve Tuesti, Tseng & Tseng's Mother (Compilation of FFVII), Tseng & Vincent Valentine, Zack Fair & Tseng
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19
Collections: FF7 Fanworks Exchange '20





	drops of tears for the hazy moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CharonKatharsis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharonKatharsis/gifts).



> I went through three prompts before my Muses latched onto this one as the best! I thought it appropriate to use Obon as a good connection point as its seasonally correct, dependent on where its celebrated in Japan~ 
> 
> I did take some liberties in assuming that the blondes of VII are not related to each other but that the majority that aren't ShinRas are all from the Western Continent (aka Cid, Cloud and Elena)!
> 
> Please enjoy! 
> 
> Any word with a (*) or in _italics_ will be defined or described at the end, for ease of reading.
> 
> The prompt: In my imagination, Tseng comes from Wutai which has a culture close to the traditional Chinese or Japanese one (which is at least partially canon, I think?)... anyway, I would love to read/see more of his cultural heritage coming through, be it as flashback to his childhood, his life outside being a Turk or something else.

* * *

Introducing his beloved to his family's traditions hadn't been in his plans. 

Inserting a kikyō kanzashi* into Elena's braided bun, Tseng reminisced on a Wutai absent of ShinRa, absent of war and death—

A Wutai that hadn't truly been seen in decades.

"Are you ready, _anata_?" He murmured as he helped her up. 

"Born ready, _liebe_." 

Tseng chuckled fondly as he heard Highwind-or Cid, as he insisted-bitching about the yukata and Valentine-Vincent, he'd insisted-giving his thrice-measured reply.

* * *

His very first solid memory was of being coaxed into a colorful yukata, picked for the bright blue and the red koi jumping on the cloth.

Mama said it was a new word and that he should call people blankies that instead.

Tseng squirmed as his Mama carefully dotted on his tilak and then blew on it, drying the dark spot that he never tried to wipe off. 

"No, 'Kaa-saaaan," he whined, wriggling his way out of her embrace to, "'Tou-san, gonna go?" 

The laughter of his Papa as he picked Tseng up made him feel warm. "Of course, are you excited for the lights?" 

"Uhuh, uhuh!" 

"Ready to light a lantern for your Obaa-san?" 

"Mhmm," Tseng snuggled closer, the scratch of Papa's whiskery cheek against his own a special secret between them.

* * *

Tseng carefully took the lantern and placed it on the water, tongue sticking out as he made sure it stayed upright. He wanted Grandma to ride the cucumber horse over the lights and then ride the eggplant cow back to her house in the underworld*, next to the great Leviathan. 

He forgot about the ledge. 

Tseng yelped, skidded off of the ledge and braced for the wet. 

Hands caught about his waist and lifted him up, warm but unfamiliar. 

"... Careful, little kitsune." The man teased, the wine eyes crinkling at the corners. The yukata he was wearing made the color of his eyes stand out, a dark red cloth that Tseng liked. 

"'Mnot a kitsune!" Tseng protested.

"Oh? Are you sure?" He teased gently as he set Tseng down, brushed him free of dirt and offered his hand. Tseng took it, carefully placing his geta on the tiles. "Where are your parents?" 

"Tseng?!" 

"Tseng, sweetheart—Oh thank Leviathan! Thank you so much." Mama knelt to check him over, licking at a hankie to clean his face. 

Tseng scrunched his nose but shared a look with his rescuer.

"'Kaa-san, I'm okay," he pouted and then turned to introduce his parents to the nice man. "This is my Haha* and my ChiChi*. I'm Tseng!" 

"I'm Vincent," Vincent hesitated and Tseng squeezed his fingers softly. "My Haha, she's over there." 

Pretty purple flowers spilled from a pair of fan kanzashi, matched by a deep blue and purple yukata and hair that was tucked into a fancy bun. Vincent's Mama was almost as pretty as Tseng's! 

"Lady Himura," Mama bowed so Tseng followed and Vincent sighed. 

"She would prefer Ichika-san, that she would," Vincent's Mama asked politely. 

"Ichika-san, Ichika-san, Vincent-kun called me a kitsune!" 

"Oh? The way he plucked you from the water, this one thought you a mizuchi." She teased. 

"I'd like that better, Ichika-san." Tseng chirruped, swinging Vincent's hand back and forth.

* * *

Rare was the time ShinRa gave any Turk time off but death, he supposed, was the great equalizer. 

Obon was different without his Mom, the tilak now an absent habit of his life. 

His Father, now in stolid black and grey, gave a faint chuckle at the sight of the kitsunes prancing across the deep navy mountains which had been handpainted. 

The final yukata she'd picked out for Tseng was bittersweet, a reminder of an easier time in his life. 

He wondered often what happened to his rescuer and, in the end, Lady Himura as well. 

Though Tseng no longer believed the fantasy about cucumber horses and eggplant cows, he still lit his welcoming fire and two lanterns, one for his Mom and one for his Grandmother. 

He danced the bon odori*, ate himself slightly sick on inari zushi and takoyaki* and then laid out in the inner courtyard of his old home with an old futon to stare at the wash of stars across the sky.

Stars he never saw in Midgar, covered as they were by the Mako smog and general filth that the Plate generated. 

Stars that his Mom was now a part of, joining the lovers who crossed the river in the sky but once a year.

* * *

The tilak was part of him like an arm or a leg. He quite happily broke the fingers of anyone foolish enough to try and smear it. 

The black ash was a singular devotion to Leviathan, above all other Summons. 

When Reno joined, with his marks of Ramuh, it took decidedly less time for the other Turks to figure out the signs should be well left alone. 

Despite their age gap and their wildly different personalities, Tseng trusted Reno enough to room with him bare-faced and to place his tilak without fear in the morning. 

Reno carefully painted on each mark with a thick vermillion paste, the sharp edge created by the thin brush flicking upward. 

"See something you like, yo?" 

"Hardly, such impulsivity would be ill-suited to Leviathan." 

"Yeah, yeah. Well, Ramuh wouldn't want your stuffy discipline either so nyeh." Reno stuck his tongue out and Tseng flicked it. 

Reno pouted at him the whole day for that but it had been worth the split second of shock his protege had worn.

* * *

Shrines to Leviathan were rare outside of Wutai and even more so on the Eastern Continent so to find one after Modoheim's crash? 

He was praying to his Summon. 

Leviathan had probably saved their lives. 

Tseng clapped his hands twice and rang the small bell adjacent to the shrine, bowing deeply to the representative statuette. 

«Many thanks, great serpent of the sea and sky.» 

"Huh?" 

"Eh, weird Turk shit. Leave 'im to it." Trust Fair to take stock of a situation and read it incorrectly. 

"Leviathan saved our lives. I would expect a small amount of gratutude." He cut in quietly. 

Fair glanced at the burning wreckage, the edge of the cliff much closer than it should have been and then at the intact shrine. "... Good point. How did it go again?"

* * *

Elena had shown a renewed interest in Leviathan after Tseng had quietly begged his Summon to save them from certain death after facing off with the Remnants.

Valentine had saved them, swearing up and down on his great winged beast* that he'd been directed by divine will. 

Tseng wouldn't give the other Summon the pleasure of being _named_ but he would be grateful to him as well. 

It had allowed him to see Elena as something more than his equal, his quiet attentions enthusiastically returned.

"Might I ask why?" 

"Hmm, I guess it was watching you kick ass? I mean, in general, during my Turk induction. You took no shit, gave no shit except maybe Reno and treated me like I belonged." She hummed as she gently tugging at his braid on the couch of Healin Lodge. 

Tseng leaned into the touch and she crowed out a victory, tugging out his hair tie to dig her fingers into his scalp. 

He went practically limp above her, relishing in the massaging touch. 

Perhaps the Remnants had had their use after all. 

They'd gotten him a lioness.

* * *

Elena understood his taciturn nature, never asking for PDA on the job or off, only asking for affection in private. 

Then he gave it freely, lavishing that which he withheld in the civilian public. She often sat in his lap as he completed paperwork, her own work at hand from before their injuries. 

Chin pillowed in her hair, he reflected on his past and then curled around his present. 

" _Anata_?" 

"You never tell me what it means, you know," 

"Just as you never explain yours," he countered dryly. "Does the Nibel Range have a celebration for the dead?" 

"Hmm. We do but it's in late winter, with the solstice. You?" She remarked easily, still typing diligently even as Tseng trailed his fingertips down her arm. 

"Wutai's is in the summer. Would you come with me?" 

"Got someone you want me to meet?" Elena teased gently. 

"My Father is getting on, I suppose, but he's not fond of how Wutai's become." Tseng allowed. 

Elena went quiet, picking her words carefully. "Before ShinRa?" 

"Princess Kisaragi is doing well by our people, as is Emperor Godo; he made a difficult choice and survived it. Wutai will thrive again." Tseng murmured after a long moment, "ShinRa, on occasion, can be known for drawing out the best in people." 

"Oh?" 

"Hn, perhaps." 

"You tease!" 

"Of course, how else would I get to watch you blush on a laptop screen?" He purred, winding his arms around her waist and accepting her kisses. 

"Wretched fox," she mumbled against his lips before she nipped him

"Bloody lioness." He nipped back, content in their safety.

* * *

Tseng prided himself on reading people. It was part and parcel of being the Director of the Turks. 

He did not expect Valentine to be boxing Highwind in and the latter _enjoying it_. 

Tseng spun on his heel and reminded himself to speak to Highwind later on WRO matters.

* * *

"You're even more uptight than usual, Tseng. What'd Ah do?" 

"That is neither here nor there, Captain—" 

"Oh," the wolf-grin spread from behind the clenched cigarette butt and then Highwind guffawed. "You caught Vince and Ah makin' out!" 

"I did no such thing," Tseng countered stiffly. 

"Ah'm guessin' you almost caught us though, which is why you've been picky 'n prissy as hell. Practically a cat— Though Vince swears up and down you're a kitsune." 

Tseng suppressed the urge to snarl and then sighed, "Perhaps." 

"To be fair to ya, Ah didn't expect it either. Sorta happened while we were savin' the world and Ah expected to be pining well into mah next life. Demons were just ornery enough to instigate." 

"... The Limit Breaks?" 

"Uh-uh, Chaos." Tseng rose a brow at that and the Captain chuckled. "Yeah, mah reaction too at first. He wants to go to Obon but thinks he doesn't belong. Some bullshit about death and technically being undead. If you c'n straighten that out, Ah might like ya a bit better." 

"I can only make an attempt, Captain Highwind." 

"Swear t'—It's Cid! Highwind's mah old man! Crotchety motherfucker, anglin for about a hundred and a mean ol cuss. Worse than me, if you can believe it." 

"I do." 

"Damn Turks taking everything at face value..." Highwind-no, Cid-trailed off as Tseng spotted Valentine. "Better go while the gettin is good!"

* * *

Tseng and Valentine were rarely paired as a WRO-ShinRa collective but Tseng had politely worded his desire to Tuesti. 

"... Why did you intimidate Reeve into this assignment with me?" Valentine asked halfway through the mission. 

«The Captain and I discussed a few things. Namely that Obon is a festival for the dead and that you have some idea that you are not welcome to it.» Tseng prodded in Wutainese. 

Valentine halted mid-stride, spun around and loomed over him with burning crimson eyes, «Kitsune, look at how you've grown. Many tails and a fine smile perfect for your trickery.» 

«I learned from the best. Come to Obon. If you burst into flames, I shall put you out. Set a lantern for your 'Kaa-san?» He offered bluntly. 

«...Trust a Leviathan devotee to speak harsh truths.» Valentine replied. «Bahamut must be fond of you yet; I will... consider your request.»

* * *

Tseng tied a kitsune mask on, tilting it to the side, dressed in the kitsune yukata and a light blue haori. 

Vincent was wearing one of Bahamut, dressed in a burgundy yukata that complimented his cloak, their beloveds engaged in mechanics and weaponry. 

He softened, ever so briefly, to hand Elena a fan and to offer his hand not holding the lanterns. 

Sending them down the river, Tseng hesitated for half a moment and a waft of air that smelt of his Mom's perfume swept past him to linger by Elena. 

_Good choice, little kit._

"'Kaa-san," he breathed out and she gently ruffled his careful style, her thumb hovering just over his tilak. 

_Cross the river when you are ready._

"Yes, 'Kaa-san."

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, complain, ect. 
> 
> Anata is dearest, beloved and liebe is essentially the same! Basically endearments~
> 
> *Japanese bellflower hair ornament  
> * Obon tradition for the spirits  
> *Humble names for Mother and Father but less formal than ancient forms; Hahaue and Chichiue  
> *Obon festival dances  
> *Bahamut


End file.
